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September 20, 2015
dream (v.)
I came across a piece of writing today and it articulated a feeling that for some time I couldn't quite find the words to describe - until now. It pinpoints the feeling I initially had when I ended a long-term relationship a couple of years ago:
Sometimes you mourn the fact that you never got to dream together at all. No specific plans for the future, no particular defined commitments, no hard realities that come from dealing with what's to come in that unknown future because you haven't given yourself/yourselves permission, and are riddled with the weight of a future in which you are alone, without them.
It's a strange thing being aware that as you grow with a person you're also nearing a specific end date; that with each gain and step closer towards them, you're simultaneously also getting closer to leaving them. (This is something I've known far too well ever since I booked my flight a couple of days ago).
Sometimes, there's an end date that forces you to be in the present much more than is usual; this is because the only future together you have is one where, well, you're not together, (so thinking about it makes it somewhat..oxymoronic, gut-wretchingly cataclysmic). Though all relationships are destined to end with the inevitability of passing time, this mindfulness and focus on the now is quite contrary to how many of us lead (or want to lead) romantic relationships: with delusional dreams of romantic "Forevers." Dreams that keep people together through the nightmares of life; ludicrous, irrational, but a tempting play to be a part of, nonetheless.
Or maybe, it's like experiencing a storm (this resonates right now given the windstorm that just hit BC). There's something very temporary running through but you also know that once it's passed, it will leave permanent marks. Stuff gets uprooted, truths fly more freely, the present experience envelops you, maybe makes you fly, too, (or just whirls you about and makes you fall...hard). But you get up and temper the storm by seeing it for its beauty; you enjoy the little lulls between the gusts so that you don't go reeling; you try to float for a bit unperturbed and remind yourself when reality hits that there's always something to be weathered, accepted, learned, and try to pull lessons from the hard realities.
When you're aware that things are finite, your appreciation grows, too. In the realm of relationships, you restrain your ego and its selfish proclivities; you stop risking miscommunications and wasted efforts that come from vain silences and ambiguous texts, the playing of games and the overthinking. You ask. You tell. You cut to the heart of things with less fear so as not to not waste time - because with all things acutely finite, time is of the essence.
It'd be great if we could apply this sense of urgency more readily in life, no? To wake to the fact that all our experiences are singular, unique, first and last, all finite, temporary, being weathered by time... all the time.
Undoubtedly, we'll all wake up and it'll be time to leave. For some things in life, the departure date is more certain; for others, it's just waiting far off in the hazy distance. Before then, (because it's always when not if,) rather than completely delude ourselves with dreams of distant uncertain futures and forevers, why not try and better acquaint ourselves with what is at our fingertips and appreciate the dream that's already happening here and now...?
I fear waking up of course out of fear that he won't be there. But what if he is and we can dream together, if not into distant dreamy futures, just one day.. one more moment at a time?
"One of the difficulties of leaving a relationship is not so much, at the end, leaving the person themselves — because, by that time, you’re ready to go; what’s difficult is leaving the dreams that you shared together. And you know that somehow — no matter who you meet in your life in the future, and no matter what species of happiness you would share with them — you will never, ever share those particular dreams again, with that particular tonality and coloration. And so there’s a lovely and powerful form of grief there that is the ultimate of giving away but making space for another form of reimagination." - David Whyte, "The Journey"And now, amidst a time when I am slowly preparing to leave Vancouver for a re-imagining of my own if you will - it's also helped me articulate a feeling I've been having more recently:
Sometimes you mourn the fact that you never got to dream together at all. No specific plans for the future, no particular defined commitments, no hard realities that come from dealing with what's to come in that unknown future because you haven't given yourself/yourselves permission, and are riddled with the weight of a future in which you are alone, without them.
It's a strange thing being aware that as you grow with a person you're also nearing a specific end date; that with each gain and step closer towards them, you're simultaneously also getting closer to leaving them. (This is something I've known far too well ever since I booked my flight a couple of days ago).
Sometimes, there's an end date that forces you to be in the present much more than is usual; this is because the only future together you have is one where, well, you're not together, (so thinking about it makes it somewhat..oxymoronic, gut-wretchingly cataclysmic). Though all relationships are destined to end with the inevitability of passing time, this mindfulness and focus on the now is quite contrary to how many of us lead (or want to lead) romantic relationships: with delusional dreams of romantic "Forevers." Dreams that keep people together through the nightmares of life; ludicrous, irrational, but a tempting play to be a part of, nonetheless.
dream (n.) Old Frisian dram, Dutch droom, German traum, perhaps from German cognate trügen "to delude," from de- "down" + ludere "to play" (see Latin ludicrus, "a game, play")It's an uncanny feeling this inevitable loss - however close or far in the future - but once you embrace it, it can also make things all the more wonderful. You actually liberate the relationship from the delusion of infinite time by being more concerned with what happens now. And the less time there is, the more tempting this becomes - mostly because it's the only way to operate and continue enjoying each other's company. You live in the moment and take all there is (and all there ever is is what's there right now). Some would call it denial or avoidance. But I say, it's closer to living in a dream.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
- Shakespeare, The Tempest
Or maybe, it's like experiencing a storm (this resonates right now given the windstorm that just hit BC). There's something very temporary running through but you also know that once it's passed, it will leave permanent marks. Stuff gets uprooted, truths fly more freely, the present experience envelops you, maybe makes you fly, too, (or just whirls you about and makes you fall...hard). But you get up and temper the storm by seeing it for its beauty; you enjoy the little lulls between the gusts so that you don't go reeling; you try to float for a bit unperturbed and remind yourself when reality hits that there's always something to be weathered, accepted, learned, and try to pull lessons from the hard realities.
temper (n.) Old English temprian ‘bring something into the required condition by mixing it with something else,’ from Latin temperare ‘mingle, restrain oneself.’ Sense development was probably influenced by Old French temprer ‘to temper, moderate.’
When you're aware that things are finite, your appreciation grows, too. In the realm of relationships, you restrain your ego and its selfish proclivities; you stop risking miscommunications and wasted efforts that come from vain silences and ambiguous texts, the playing of games and the overthinking. You ask. You tell. You cut to the heart of things with less fear so as not to not waste time - because with all things acutely finite, time is of the essence.
It'd be great if we could apply this sense of urgency more readily in life, no? To wake to the fact that all our experiences are singular, unique, first and last, all finite, temporary, being weathered by time... all the time.
tempest (n.) from Old French tempeste, from Latin tempestas and tempus ‘season, weather, storm,' (see temporal, "temporary"). Sense evolution is from "period of time" to "period of weather," to "bad weather" to "storm." Words for "weather" originally were words for "time" in languages from Russia to Brittany.
Undoubtedly, we'll all wake up and it'll be time to leave. For some things in life, the departure date is more certain; for others, it's just waiting far off in the hazy distance. Before then, (because it's always when not if,) rather than completely delude ourselves with dreams of distant uncertain futures and forevers, why not try and better acquaint ourselves with what is at our fingertips and appreciate the dream that's already happening here and now...?
I fear waking up of course out of fear that he won't be there. But what if he is and we can dream together, if not into distant dreamy futures, just one day.. one more moment at a time?
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